


Sherlock is a cat

by aron_kristina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Crack, Gen, Sherlock is a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aron_kristina/pseuds/aron_kristina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock suffers temporary brain damage and believes he is a cat. Strange things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed and all that (comment fic), so feel free to point out any and all errors you can find.  
> (I know that it changes tenses, I'm planning to fix this when I'm finished)

Sherlock is sitting up when John reaches him, and he's looking rather well for someone who just fell down the stairs. Moving means no skeletal injury (though his neck needs to be checked), and there is no obvious bleeding. He is smiling though, which is odd.

"Hi, John," Sherlock says when John sits down next to him.

"How do you feel?" John asks, because Sherlock should at least be bitching about the staircase manufacturer's general incompetence.

"You have pretty hair," Sherlock says, still smiling.

"It's not funny," John says, and starts palpating Sherlock's head in case there are injuries his hair is hiding. He can't find any, but when he tries to remove his hands Sherlock grabs them and puts them back on his head. Bewildered, John starts stroking through the hair, and soon he has Sherlock lying across him, sprawled out on the pavement and pushing his head into John's hands.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" he asks, because Sherlock had never before given any sort of hint that he might like being, well, petted.

"I'm a cat," Sherlock says, and John moves his hands in shock, managing to rip some of Sherlock's hair out while he does it.

*

Managing to get Sherlock to stop clawing at him, and then getting him home, had not been easy, but John had managed through a combination of bribing him with more petting and promising cream when they got home. Once back in Baker Street Sherlock had refused to go inside, claiming he needed to investigate some fascinating smells, which had given John time to phone Mycroft in a panic. He had no idea what he had said, if he had even managed to explain that Sherlock now believed himself a cat, but Mycroft had promised to come immediately, so the direness of the situation had not gone unnoticed.

John did some quick research on the net while waiting for Mycroft, but he couldn't find anything that would make a grown man suddenly believe he was a cat. Well, nothing apart from several hallucinogenic substances, but he was almost sure Sherlock hadn't taken any of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft shows up in his normal black car, and Sherlock is sitting on the steps, watching him. When Mycroft steps out Sherlock leans back, and narrows his eyes. Mycroft heaves a sigh and crouches down, using his umbrella as support. He holds out his hand toward Sherlock, who looks at him with suspicion before tentatively leaning forward and sniffing Mycroft. Apparently deciding Mycroft wasn't an enemy he shuffles forward and leans on Mycroft. Mycroft pets him on the head and scratches him behind the ears and soon Sherlock is letting out sounds that might, if you're being kind, be called purring.

"Should we go upstairs?" Mycroft asks, voice low and even, not a single muscle on his face betraying that this is a somewhat strange situation. Sherlock shakes his head a bit. "I believe John has a bowl of cream for you, maybe even some nice fish." Sherlock pushes his head against Mycroft's chest, making him rock backwards a bit. "Yes, I'll carry you," he says.

*

The sight that greets John when he opens the door to their flat is not one he'd ever expected to see. Mycroft is carrying Sherlock in a very complicated grip that somehow involves a hand on his neck, almost like you'd carry a real cat. Sherlock, in turn, is curled up in a way that looks uncomfortable, but John already knew his body could bend in strange ways, having observed the way Sherlock used pieces of furniture to make himself into abstract art.

Mycroft sat down on the sofa with Sherlock on his lap.

"The cream, of you please," Mycroft said. "And if you're making tea I'd love some." John was too weirded out to do anything than go to the kitchen and prepare it. When he got back out Sherlock was lying on his back with his head on Mycroft's lap, and his fingers and toes spread like a cat when it's being petted just the right way. That way was apparently just below the navel with just a hint of nails.

John put the cream down on the table, but Sherlock glared at him, so he had to put it on the floor instead. Then he sunk down into his chair with a deep sigh.

"Would you like to explain this to me," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

"Not really," Mycroft replies. "He gets terribly upset if you talk about him." As if on cue, Sherlock hisses. "Sorry," Mycroft says and uses his other hand to play with Sherlock's hair until he calms down.

"O...k..." John says. "So he's done this before?" Mycroft nods, clearly unwilling to discuss it. He just keeps on petting Sherlock until Sherlock's eyes close and he looses all muscle tone.

"Just a minor psychosis," Mycroft says while untangling himself from Sherlock. "He'll be back to his normal delightful self in a couple of days. A week at most." John isn't sure he managed to process any of that.

"Psychosis," he says, latching on to the word he feels most comfortable with.

"Yes. A somewhat unusual reaction to concussion, but not unheard of. Keep him inside as much as you can, feed him whatever you can get him to eat and don't forget to wash him," Mycroft says, opening the door. "Good day, Dr Watson."

He leaves, and John still sits in his chair, feeling incredibly confused. He looks at Sherlock who is twisting in his sleep, curling up into a ball now that Mycroft is no longer there to pet him. He hides his face in his arms and John sighs deeply again. A week with Sherlock-as-a-cat. This is not going to be easy.


	4. Chapter 4

John quickly learns that Sherlock still speaks, but only if he can't get his message across in any other way, and only short words, like 'food' and 'sleep'. Actually, eating and sleeping had been the two things Sherlock had done most the first day. He eats his cream, and uses his hands far more than necessary, dipping his fingers in the cream and then licking them clean. John has never had a cat, but he's fairly sure cats don't do that, but then, Sherlock is a pretty bad cat.

John eventually goes to sleep, after locking the doors and windows as well as he can. If Sherlock-cat still has his lock picking abilities this won't help at all, so all John can do is hope that cats don't know how to pick locks. Or open windows. If Sherlock has gotten into his head that he has nine lives things could get really messy. Mycroft would have warned him, had that been the case. Hopefully.

He wakes up sometime around three with Sherlock wrapped around him, sticky with sweat from the extra heat. He tries to remove himself from underneath Sherlock, but all it gets him is a hissed warning and Sherlock clinging to him even more. He pets Sherlock's hair and tries to go back to sleep.

*

When he wakes in the morning again Sherlock is lying on the bed next him and... licking himself. Which is not a sight John had ever thought he'd see. Suddenly Mycroft's comment about washing Sherlock makes sense, because God knows what kinds of things Sherlock might get into his head to lick off. Not to mention the state of his mouth after days of eating only fish and cream, and not brushing his teeth.

He gets up and gets dressed and Sherlock doesn't spare him a glance, completely focused on licking his shin. It's disturbing, and John really hopes Sherlock is not flexible enough to lick his own genitals, because in that case John is going to call Mycroft and then desert ship.

"Sherlock," he says in his most cajoling voice. "If you come downstairs I have some nice breakfast for you." Sherlock does look up then, and apparently Sherlock-cat still has Sherlock-human's range of glares. This one says 'are you completely braindead', so John goes downstairs and leaves Sherlock to it. Getting to enjoy a nice cup of tea in solitude might be the highlight of this day.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock comes downstairs after a while, and uses his body to get John to feed him, pushing him toward the fridge. John rolls his eyes but gives Sherlock some milk and cream. He really needs to figure out what else Sherlock will eat. Mycroft had said fish, which makes sense, but does he want canned tuna or fish from the chippy? Or maybe even real cat food. No, that thought is too gross.

In any case he needs to go shopping. They don't have any canned tuna, and the dairy products are running out at an alarming rate.

Sherlock walks out of the kitchen when he's gotten his cream, and now that John can watch him walk properly he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Sherlock walks like a mix between the Cat from Red Dwarf and a drunk drag queen. He only has his trousers on (and underwear, or so John hopes), which made the experience even more absurd.

John has to take a moment to compose himself before going after Sherlock to the living room. Sherlock is sitting on the sofa, licking his hand and dragging it through his hair. It doesn't look at all wet, but then Sherlock probably can't produce enough saliva to wet his rather unruly fur. Er, hair.

"Sherlock, do you want to take a bath?" John asks, and Sherlock leaps up from the sofa, looks around and then slinks in under the table standing against the window. "I'll take that as a no." Asking him outright was maybe not the smartest thing, but John doesn't want to sleep in the same bed as someone washed in spit. He considers calling Mycroft, probably not for the last time, but if really necessary he can most likely wrestle Sherlock into the shower and sit on him. Maybe. Anyway, that's for later. He needs a nap first.

*

A loud shout from the apartment below wakes John, and he's halfway down the stairs before he's even awake, and then it's too difficult to stop, so he runs into the wall before he can change directions and run into Mrs Hudson's apartment. In there he looks everywhere before going into her bedroom.

Mrs Hudson is sitting up in bed, clenching her duvet to her chest. Sherlock is sitting in a corner, and John can't tell who looks more frightened.

"He has gone mad," Mrs Hudson says, pointing at Sherlock. John sighs.

"Yes, but it's only temporary. Er, did he try to sleep in your bed?"

"I don't know what he did! He was just there. I'm an old woman, I can't be having with this kind of stuff," Mrs Hudson says, sounding more scandalized than John had thought possible, considering how much of Sherlock's craziness she can normally stand.

"Mrs Hudson, did you have one of your herbal soothers before bed?" John asks, starting to suspect something.

"Yes, it's my hip, you know." She's still clutching at the duvet, despite the fact that she seems to have a Victorian nightgown on, complete with a little cap.

"Where do you buy them?"

"Oh, I don't, Sherlock does. He says he knows the seller, gets the best price," Mrs Hudson says, still glaring accusingly at Sherlock.

"Right, well, ok. Me and Sherlock are going to leave now." John kneels down close to Sherlock, but not too close, since he's not sure what Sherlock is going to do. "Sherlock, you're intelligent and I know you can understand me. We need to go upstairs now, and you can sleep in my bed. Let's not bother Mrs Hudson right now." He's been steadily creeping closer to Sherlock, and he can finally reach out and put a hand on Sherlock's neck. Sherlock allows it, so John picks him up and carries him out of Mrs Hudson's bedroom. Sherlock is heavier than he looks, and John hopes Mrs Hudson will have forgotten this tomorrow, or think it was a soother-induced hallucination.


	6. Chapter 6

John decides to wait until the morning before trying to get Sherlock to wash, so he goes to sleep with Sherlock wrapped around him. It's strange, because normally he wouldn't mind a bit of sweat and people smelling unwashed, how could he, doctor and soldier, but with Sherlock it feels wrong. Sherlock is always so well groomed, even when he claims to be bored and doesn't want to do anything at all he still washes his hair and makes sure his clothes don't smell. He's usually so much cleaner than John is (almost neurotically so) and now he smells like sweat, spit and unbrushed teeth. John still falls asleep after a while.

*

John prepares Sherlock's cream in the morning with a mild sedative. He hopes Sherlock-cat isn't as smart and suspicious as Sherlock-detective. It seems it works, since Sherlock eats all of his cream without protesting. John then starts petting him and scratching him behind the ears.

"Come along Sherlock," he says, still petting Sherlock's hair and slowly leading him towards the bathroom. It seems to work, and John tries not to smile. Once he manages to get Sherlock inside the bathroom he locks the door. He's prepared the bathroom and removed everything that would be destroyed by the struggle he has prepared for, and John himself is wearing cotton pajamas, so he's prepared to hold Sherlock down in the shower if necessary.

Sherlock still hasn't quite understood what's going to happen, and he keeps rubbing against John, so John keeps petting him to get him into the bath. It works, but Sherlock is starting to look a little suspicious (and he's very much easier to read as a cat) so John scratches his stomach.

They end up tangled in a very strange way inside the bath tub, and this is so much more suspicious than ripping off clothes in darkened pools, but the way Sherlock has curled around him makes it easy to hold him down when he starts to struggle. Or so John hopes, anyway. He takes a deep breath and turns on the water.


	7. Chapter 7

When John makes it out of the bathroom he's shaking all over and wondering if there's anything left of the sedative. Or if Mrs Hudson might give him one of the herbal soothers. He's managed to get Sherlock clean-ish, and dried, but the bathroom is a complete mess, and Sherlock has somehow managed to perch himself on top of the water cistern of the toilet and refuses to come down. John has tried talking him down, and this took longer than the washing itself, but in the end he had to give up.

Leaving Sherlock to his own devices John goes to make some tea. It is his firm belief that everything gets better with tea. Though in this case he considers putting a little extra in it. He's had a very trying morning after all.

To make matters worse, just when John has settled in with his tea (liberally splashed with what John hopes was brandy) Sherlock's phone rings, and it's Lestrade. Of course. Because the universe hates him. John answers with a sigh.

"Yes?"

"John? We really need Sherlock to help us with something," Lestrade says, sounding tired and even less amused byt this phonecall than John is.

"Sorry, he's busy," John says, hoping Lestrade won't recognize the lie.

"Busy with what? Anyway, it's a very strange murder, I'm sure he would..."

"No," John says firmly. "He's not available right now. He'll probably text you when he is."

"Has something..." Lestrade starts to say, but John turns off the phone. He hopes Lestrade won't come over to investigate.

*

Sherlock comes down eventually, and he seems to have forgiven John, because he curls up on his lap, which he is very much too large to do, and demands to be petted. When John doesn't obey him soon enough he takes John's hand and uses it to pet his own hair. John has to stifle a laugh, and as a result almost dies from aspirating his own saliva. Sherlock is unbothered by this, poking his head rather agressively at John's sternum until John pets him.


	8. Chapter 8

Entertaining Sherlock is something John does all the time, but he'd never thought he'd had to do it quite like this.

After taking a nap on the sofa, Sherlock lying on top of John (and how could such a skinny person be so uncomfortable) Sherlock had started showing the usual Sherlock signs of being bored. John hadn't wanted the furniture to get claw marks in addition to everything else, not to mention what that would do to Sherlock's hands, so he'd gone looking for something suitably distracting.

What he'd found was a ball of string. Now, John didn't know much about cats apart from what he'd seen in Youtube videos, but he was sure that playing with string was something cats did.

He'd tried just giving Sherlock the string, and Sherlock had looked at it for 0.5 seconds before moving towards the table intently. John thought Sherlock made a very manipulative cat, but he didn't say so. Instead, he unraveled a bit of the string and then dragged it in front of Sherlock.

"There's a good kitty," he said, and Sherlock glared at him before he chased the string. John, who had not expected this to work, let Sherlock catch the string the first time, before he started playing for real. It soon turned into a full scale war, with John running around over the furniture, trailing a string behind him and trying to snatch it away from Sherlock who was hunting it. When John could no longer run he collapsed on the sofa, giggling like mad, and looked at the clock. They'd been at it for one and a half hour, which made it the most successful attempt at distracting Sherlock in the history of them living together. John would congratulate himself if Sherlock didn't have a "minor psychosis".

*

That night Sherlock curls up next to him in bed, and it's actually pretty nice. John has managed to keep him from licking himself, and he's put mouth rinse in Sherlock's water, so he even smells pretty pleasant. John falls asleep almost immediately.

He wakes up again by Sherlock moving on the bed. He instantly reaches out and Sherlock grabs his hand.

"It's ok, I'm here," Sherlock says, and John notes in his half asleep state that Sherlock must be back to normal, before he settles down into sleep again.


End file.
